I Did Not Know I Wanted Pigs Until I Did
Rediscovering Farm Life
I never thought I’d want pigs. Growing up, livestock meant early mornings, muddy boots, and my father’s sharp commands echoing across the yard. He loved the farm with a devotion that felt, to me, like sacrifice. I only saw the fatigue in his hands, the weight of a life tethered to chores and schedules. For years, I promised myself I’d choose something freer. But time softens old vows, and one day, I caught myself yearning for the sound of animals again—for that quiet rhythm of care I once tried to escape.
Small Steps, Big Changes
Chickens were my first step back toward the life I’d once resisted. Their soft chatter filled the mornings, and I began to understand what my father must have loved about those small rituals—the satisfaction of watching creatures thrive under steady hands. Ducks followed, then turkeys. Each brought their own humor and grace, their own quiet claim on the land.
Pigs: From Doubt to Delight
When the talk turned to pigs, I hesitated. They seemed unruly, too clever by half, but my husband was convinced they were the right next step. He was the practical one, the builder of fences and keeper of plans. Soon our evenings were spent buried in research—fencing, feed ratios, breeds that wouldn’t burn under the outside summer sun. He built the pen from scraps of old farm machinery, a sturdy patchwork of wire and wood we took to calling the “pig fortress.” By the time it was done, I found myself watching the empty space with anticipation instead of doubt.
The pigs arrived on a soft morning that smelled of rain. Two red bodies, nervous and alert, shifting inside the crate. We named them Spotty and Splotchy. At first, they clung to their corner and eyed us like strangers. My husband lured them out with bits of cheese, and slowly they explored their new home, snuffling at the dirt, discovering the joy of rooting and running.
Everyday Joys and Surprises
Evenings became our favorite time. We’d settle into lawn chairs beside the pen, beer bottles sweating in our hands, and watch the pigs play. They batted an old bowling ball across the mud, chased each other in circles, then collapsed in the shade with the satisfied sigh of creatures entirely content. I never expected to laugh so much at their antics, or to feel so calm watching them move through the routine of their small world.
Not every day was easy. When Spotty grew sick after gorging himself on a crate of whey crisps, I learned how quickly worry can undo you. We called everyone we knew, trying to understand what had gone wrong. He pulled through eventually, weaker but wiser, and I felt a new kind of gratitude—the kind that comes from realizing how fragile even the strongest things can be.
Rhythm of Real Life
By autumn, feeding, cleaning, and tending had become the rhythm of our days. The pigs greeted us with impatient grunts when we carried the buckets, and I found something familiar in the pattern of their need. The chores no longer felt heavy. They were the heartbeat of a life I had finally grown into.
Saying Goodbye When the pigs left, the pen seemed impossibly still. The deep hoofprints in the soil, the half-buried bowling ball, the empty trough—each mark a reminder of what we’d built together. We had given them good days, full of play and sun and food, and they had given us something harder to name. In their company, I found ease where I had once felt duty. I learned that the work that ties you down can also set you free.
Have you ever found joy in something you once resisted? Share your surprising stories in the comments—let’s celebrate the unexpected rewards of trying something new!
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